


hitched at the date

by Honora



Series: i need a hero (but not that one) [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Paintball, i'm...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honora/pseuds/Honora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry didn't think Cold was serious about the date thing.</p>
<p>Barry makes a lot of mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hitched at the date

**Author's Note:**

> i hadn't planned to keep this story going at all, but [1thy_truth_is_won0](http://archiveofourown.org/users/1thy_truth_is_won0/pseuds/1thy_truth_is_won0) mentioned they could go paintball shooting for a date and i couldn't stop thinking about it so here it is.   
> I'm pretty sure this is the worst fic i've ever written, fyi.  
> (also 'hitched' means nothing here i just liked the way the titles completed each other).

“I want you to know, this is the weirdest date I’ve ever been in,” Barry announces. “Bar none. It would be the weirdest day of my life too, but one day I got superpowers, so. This makes second, though.”

“You must have lived a very boring life, then,” Len fires back, utterly undisturbed. “It’s just paintball, kid. Chill.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “It’s not about the place and you know it.”

No, it’s about the fact he’s out on a date in a sunny afternoon with his actual nemesis, something he doesn’t actually recall agreeing to. All he knows is that Snart – Len now, he asked to be called Len, and Barry accepts because it’s not any weird _er_ than anything else going on today – announced to him he was going to be picking him up at eight, and the next day he’d actually _done,_ showing up at his house (thankfully when Joe was already out) and shepherding him out the door before his wits could catch up to him and he could say _now you wait just a minute pal, you’re a criminal._

But he thinks he deserves some slack here. He had just woken up, after all.

And that’s another thing: when Len had said “I’ll pick you at eight”, Barry had understood eight at _night,_ like any _reasonable_ person would.

Thinking about it, that was probably Len’s whole plan. Catch Barry sleep dazed and confused, take him out before he can’t remember to say no. He is a criminal mastermind. And he has been acting so weird lately Barry has adopted a brand new roll with it attitude, which maybe was less his choice than he originally imagined.

Oh well. At least Len had bought him breakfast.

“But you know what, the place is weird too. Why paintball? Are you secretly thirteen?”

“Why not paintball?” Len asks. “And I don’t think a man with Star Trek pajamas should really be throwing stones here.”

Barry blushes. He really wishes he’d put on clothes before answering the door that morning.

“Star Trek isn’t for children,” he defends hotly. It’s not, too. It’s a masterpiece of creation.

And besides, Joe gave him those pajamas. Not that he’s telling Len that, of course.

“No but seriously. Tell me why you thought ‘oh paintball! That’s the stuff!’ I mean, it’s only fair.”

Len frowns at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that, since this is a… date,” Len looks deeply unimpressed with Barry’s inability to say the word without cringing. Too bad for him; it’s weird and Barry deserves the slack. “It should be used to get to know each other better. Only, you already stalked everything there is to know about me. So it’s your turn.”

“Not everything,” Len says, but he doesn’t sound belligerent. Just unsure, like he thinks Barry is working an angle, like he’s trying to predict every possible way this might backfire.

Barry waits him out. He has no intention of pushing.

Finally, turned away from him toward the field, Len says. “Lisa and I used to come here, when we were kids. It’s a big place, and it was easy to go unnoticed after your turn was over. We could stay for hours and hours.”

“You came alone?” Barry asks. He’s more fascinated than he’d imagined he would be. He’d never stopped to imagine Len and Lisa as anything but Captain Cold and Golden Glider before, and the fact they were siblings was just a minor detail. But suddenly he realizes it means so much more.

“I was old enough to bring her,” Len shrugs. “Too bad it only opened in the summer.”

He doesn’t say anything else on the subject. Then the line ahead of them moves and they’re standing right on the entrance.

Len smirks at him. “Looks like it’s our turn.”

 

 

“I want to make a rule,” Barry informs Len, while shrugging on the protective vest. It seems awfully heavy for a children’s game (regardless of what Len might want to claim, they are mostly surrounded by middle scholars. Barry remains convinced Len is harboring a secret inner child, deep down), but he’s never actually played paintball before. Joe didn’t care much for it, and since neither he nor Iris ever showed much interest, he never brought them. And as for going with other kids, well. The type that played it was the kind that would be happy to push Barry’s head onto a toilet, so he hadn’t volunteered to come with them.

He figures it’s just to be extra sure the kids won’t hurt themselves.

“Already?” Len asks with a sour look. Barry distantly notices he looks good with the vest on, and quickly squishes the thought. There’s no way that kind of perception can help him deal with Leonard Snart, thank you very much.

“No powers. I don’t run; you don’t ice anything. Deal?”

Len lifts his brows. “How would I even do that? The cold gun isn’t here.”

Barry narrows his eyes.

It earns him a leer and a step closer. “You can always search me, if you don’t believe it.”

Barry narrows his eyes further. He’s practically squinting.

“Fine,” Len rolls his eyes. “I promise not to ice anything, although that would be impossible anyway, since I didn’t bring the gun along. Happy?”

“Hm,” Barry considers him for a moment, head cocked to the side. Then he grins. “Ask me again when this is over.”

 Len looks surprised, but Barry doesn’t know why. He _can_ learn from experience.

 

 

They don’t talk about it, but as soon as they’re outfitted and armed, they instinctively move to opposing sides. They could join a group and fight together, of course, but no, they silently decide to make it a struggle and keep it between them.

Some things never change.

That means they have to keep as far away from each other as possible for as long as they can, unless they have a way to take each other down.

It doesn’t feel very date-y, if you ask Barry. His conception of a date means two people spending time _together._ But he’ll be the first to admit he doesn’t have all that much experience on dating, especially not with people like Len. Besides, this isn’t a conventional date. And he has to concede it’s thrilling, in its way.

Fighting Cold always is, if he’s being honest. Not good, because people are in danger, including people he loves, and the risks are real. But still, it’s… engaging. He’s often mad at himself from thinking that.

Now he doesn’t have to be. This is Len being himself, and there are no consequences. He’s free to have fun.

Too bad it can’t always be this way.

He can’t think of that right now. The field is the combination of a junkyard and a maze, full of obstacles to hind behind and twisty paths to run around in, and he’s trying to find a spot he can defend and from which he can see Len coming. It’s difficult; every place he reaches either has been claimed by someone already or leaves him with a blind spot he can’t protect.

That won’t do. He needs the advantage of good ground. He’s sure Len must have a dozen different strategies already, while all of his consist of running around trying not to get killed.

Again, some things never change.

He’s still strolling around, searching for a little out of the way corner to call his own, when he swears he hears movement behind him. Instinct has him jumping out of the way and behind a strategic rock on the ground before he has time to think about it. The shell that was supposed to hit his torso hits his leg when he moves.

It _hurts._

“What,” Barry gasps. “You _shot_ me!”

“What did you expect?” Len calls from where he’s hidden behind a division of the maze.

“With my back turned!”

“Again, what did you–”

He doesn’t get to time to finish before Barry is shooting shell after shell toward the direction of his voice. His laughter is audible as he gets away.

Barry prods the place he was hit – now marked by neon green paint – with a finger. It throbs, so it’ll probably leave a bruise for an hour, which is how long bruises last on him these days. He’s not happy.

“That’s it, you jerk,” he decides, getting up and taking pursuit.

 

 

Barry’s pretty sure he’s never played such a stressful game of a cat and mouse before.

He manages to catch up to Len, and even to hit a shot at his shoulder, only to then be chased somewhere else by a newly pissed of Len. And it just goes on and on, until he can’t look down and find an inch of himself that isn’t covered with paint.

It shouldn’t have been his way, he supposes. It should have been friendly. It shouldn’t feel so competitive he feels ready to make Len _swallow_ the ugly paint if that’s what it takes.

And yet.

The situation is already unfair because Len has an extremely illegal familiarity with guns that Barry doesn’t possess, so if he gets even a mildly clear shot, his aim tends to be spot on. Barry’s basically waving his gun around and trying to hit Len’s big, inflated head.

Sometimes he gets a lucky shot and the shell hits him instead of flying over him – his shoulders are covered and most likely pained by now, and Len gets really creative with his cursing after the third time.

_Good,_ Barry thinks, alternating between shooting aimlessly and ducking out of sight. _Take that. And that!_

At least he’s got the upper hand when it comes to escaping. He’s not only faster as he is skinnier, which he’d never thought would be useful, but he can weasel through tight shortcuts Len has to go around, and it gives him time to either run out of sight or hide in waiting.

“Maybe you need to start a diet,” he suggests in just such an occasion, exploding out of his hiding place, fake gun a-blazing. Len ducks so fast his feet slide.

“Maybe you need to stop cheating,” he growls.

“You think I need help to outrun you?” Barry laughs. “Can’t catch your breath?”

He makes the mistake of poking his head out of hiding, cheeky grin in place. A shell comes so close to hitting him it nearly takes off his nose. He yelps.

The next they manage to lose each other, Barry prowls the silently and alert. He’s got a much better handle of the layout of the place now, and he knows he’s basically just going in circles over the same areas he’s covered before, but Len isn’t anywhere yet, so he has to keep going.

Eventually, he hears noise ahead of him, right after a turn on the path. He glues his back to the wall and slides as quietly as he can toward it. All he hears are murmurs, and he thinks it’s just the sound of someone preparing themselves, not someone ready and waiting. He grins.

He jumps through the open space, gun ahead of him and ready to shoot, and then–

Three young boys yell and duck out of the way.

“Oh, sorry! I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else!” He lowers his gun and comes closer, wanting to make sure they’re all right. God, they can’t be older than twelve, if they’re that old at all. “Christ, are you alright?”

“It’s okay, mister,” says one of the boys, still on the ground, and Barry rushes forward to help him up. He doesn’t even notice the other two surround him until a distinctly adult voice just out of sight shouts “NOW!”

And all three jump him, their weight pushing him down and holding him on the ground. He can’t shake them off – they’re children, he won’t risk hurting them – but he hardly has time to realize that before Len is running out from behind a rock and shooting him point blank, right in the chest.

“Game over,” he smirks, then affects a serious tone, shaking his head like he’s grieving. “You’re so predictable, Scarlet.”

Barry’s chin drops. “You _absolute_ di– a– _jerk!”_ he finally manages, having trouble keeping it appropriate to their audience, who’s fortunately getting off of him. He sits up. “You cheated!”

Len shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. You mentioned outside aid. You didn’t say anything about hired help.”

“Yeah, and speaking of that,” the boy Barry tried to help up pipes in, hand extended to Len. Barry is so _betrayed._

“Here,” Len digs underneath his gear to where he’s apparently hid his wallet, or at least some cash, through all of this. And he tried to convince Barry his gun wasn’t there. Bari will be surprised if the cold gun is the _weapon_ there. He hand the kid over a crumpled bill.

“You said you’d give us twenty!” The boy shouts indignantly, looking over the money.  

“I did. Twenty dollars, for all three of you,” he gives the boys a look. “If you wanted to be paid individually you should have specified that.”

Barry isn’t sure whether to be angrier Len cheated, that he sued children to do it, or that  he’s teaching the youth bad morals, even if that’s not the worst he could’ve come up with. Or all three.

He feels mad enough to take on all three.

“It’ll buy all three of you ice cream,” he finishes, and it seems to pacify the boys, who run out happy as anything. Len watches them go for a moment.

Taking advantage of Len’s temporary distraction, Barry shoots him.

“What are you doing?” Len turns back, shocked. “You’re dead, you can’t keep shooting.”

Barry shoots him again.

“You suck,” he tells him, picking himself off the ground. “I’m never playing a game with you again.”

 

 

Later, they take a walk on pier bracing the waterfront.

It’s past noon by now, though not much. The sun is high on the sky and it glitters everywhere, on the windows of the tall buildings, over the water in twinkling dancing patterns. It’ s perfect summer day, lots of people out, birds chirping everywhere, a light breeze blowing so it’s not too hot. Everything is almost magical.

Barry glares at Len.

He sighs. “You can’t possibly still be mad.”

The glare intensifies.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a remarkably bad loser?”

He happens to make that comment just as they’re reaching the edge of the pier, and he’s closer to it then Barry. His mistake.

_That’s it,_ Barry thinks, and with all his weight pushes him into the water. 

There’s a brief but wonderful moment when his view of Len’s stunned expression is perfect, and Barry commits it to memory so he can savor it forever.

But to fast he’s hitting the water and going under, so Barry leans over to properly laugh at him.

His mistake, this time. Really, he blames himself.

Len’s hand shoots up to grab him by the shirt, and he’s being pulled in before he knows it.

The cold water is a shock to his senses, and Barry swims back to the surface almost as soon as he goes under, desperate for the feel of sunlight. He pushes himself over the pier, feeling heavy and uncomfortable, Len right beside him.

“Ugh,” he whines, getting up. His clothes all stick to him, and the paint, mixed with water, runs down his body. He starts wringing his shirt. “Now I’m wet, too.”

“You started it.”

“Yeah, but you deserved it,” glancing around to make sure they’re alone for the moment, Barry tries using super speed to dry out the fabric. He knows he’s going to say something else, some other complaint, but when he faces up to do it, he sees Len… looking.

He also, for the first time, sees _Len._

Whose clothes are also sticking to his body and completely see through, where they’re not colorful neon, which doesn’t look nearly as bad as it should. Focusing his eye on his face, Barry sees that there are droplets on his lips, running down the bridge of his nose, caught on his eyelashes. He notices his eyes are so very blue.

Blue, and intent. On _him._

Barry swallows.

He’d never be capable to say who moves first, who turns the watching to moving, but maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is that no one stops it, even if that’s so obviously the responsible thing to do. It’s what Barry should do, but he doesn’t even think about it. He doesn’t think about anything.

Not when Len’s arms find their way around his waist and pull him closer until they’re glued to each other from thighs to chest, and Barry’s hands are trailing down his back and over his shoulders, the feel of him so solid under his fingers, against his skin.

Len’s hand finds its way to Barry’s hair and lightly pulls at, bending his neck. Barry’s mouth falls open of its own accord, and Len pushes his tongue past his lips. Barry’s brain shuts off.

Eventually, they stop. Gradually, naturally, and Barry should have pushed him off, but instead they separate together, like they both decided it was time.

“I– ” Barry tries, but he doesn’t know how to continue. This all feels so wrong, but how can it be any more wrong than anything else they did today? Why is this moment that makes everything real?

He can’t tell; it’s hard to think when your whole body is warm and tingly.

“Why do you look so surprised?” Len murmurs, his finger tracing Barry’s cheek. “This is a date. Did you think it was platonic?”

 “No,” he says, and bites his lip. “…maybe. I don’t know what I thought. I don’t think I thought anything.”

“You were fine, before.”

“Yes, but. I don’t know, it caught up to me,” he breaks away, finally, because it’s so easy to get distracted inside the circle of Len’s arms. “This isn’t right. We’re here together, then what? You hijack another train? I try to stop you?”

“Hijackings aren’t really my style.”

“Don’t deflect,” Barry makes a face at him. “Len, what are we doing?”

Len comes closer when he says his name, puts his arms around Barry again. Barry lets him.

“I thought this was all your idea,” he says, and Barry remembers the supermarket and chokes out a laugh. His conscience, which sounds suspiciously like Oliver, shouts at him even louder.

“I guess, but. Like I said, I didn’t really think it through. I kinda just assumed I was stopping you from committing crimes to get my attention.” 

The arms around his tighten. “I’m still mad about that, just so we’re clear. Stop sending your little sidekicks after me. IF you do it again, I’ll let Mick set fire to the First National.”

Barry has to pull back to look at him. _“Why?”_

“I promise not to do it when there are people inside, but that’s all you get from me,” Len shrugs. 

Groaning, Barry lets himself fall back into his chest, promising he’s only going to enjoy this a second longer.

_Just a second,_ he promises the Oliver having a fit at the back of his mind. _Then I’ll leave._

“I bet this kind of thing never happens to the Arrow,” he thinks of saying, and Len huffs, which he supposes is all he’ll ever need of Len’s opinion of the other vigilante.

Barry sighs. “I should go home now.”

Len lets him go.

He doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr mirror [ here ](http://tamirthegreat.tumblr.com/post/123060589636/title-hitched-at-the-date-pairing-barry)


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